第25章 阿拉比 (1)

　　Araby

　　《阿拉比》是詹姆斯·乔伊斯小说集《都柏林人》

　　中一篇反映少年心理变化的短篇小说。小说讲述了一

　　个都柏林少年对同伴的姐姐产生了朦胧的爱情，在经

　　过漫长而又焦急的等待之后，最终爱情幻想以破灭而

　　告终。

　　[ 爱尔兰]　詹姆斯·乔伊斯（ James Joyce）

　　Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlor watching

　　her door. The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash

　　so that I could not be seen. When she came out on the doorstep

　　my heart leaped. I ran to the hall，seized my books and followed

　　her. I kept her brown figure always in my eye and，when we

　　came near the point at which our ways diverged，I quickened my

　　pace and passed her. This happened morning after morning. I had

　　never spoken to her，except for a few casual words，and yet her

　　name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

　　Her image accompanied me even in places the most hostile

　　to romance. On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing

　　I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through the

　　flaring streets，jostled by drunken men and bargaining women，

　　amid the curses of laborers，the shrill litanies of shop boys

　　who stood on guard by the barrels of pigs’cheeks，the nasal

　　chanting of street singers，who sang a come-all-you about O’

　　Donovan Rossa，or a ballad about the troubles in our native land.

　　These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me:I

　　imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes.

　　Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and

　　praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often

　　full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my

　　heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little

　　of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her

　　or not or，if I spoke to her，how I could tell her of my confused

　　adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and

　　gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.

　　One evening I went into the back drawing room in which

　　the priest had died. It was a dark rainy evening and there was no

　　sound in the house. Through one of the broken panes I heard the

　　rain impinge upon the earth，the fine incessant needles of water

　　playing in the sodden beds. Some distant lamp or lighted window

　　gleamed below me. I was thankful that I could see so little. All

　　my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and，feeling that

　　I was about to slip from them，I pressed the palms of my hands

　　together until they trembled，murmuring:“O love! O love !”

　　many times.

　　At last she spoke to me. When she addressed the first words

　　to me I was so confused that I did not know what to answer. She

　　asked me was I going to Araby. I forgot whether I answered yes or

　　no. It would be a splendid bazaar，she said ；she would love to go.

　　“And why can’t you?”I asked.

　　While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round

　　her wrist. She could not go，she said，because there would be a

　　retreat that week in her convent. Her brother and two other boys

　　were fighting for their caps and I was alone at the railings. She

　　held one of the spikes，bowing her head towards me. The light

　　from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of her

　　neck，lit up her hair that rested there and，falling，lit up the hand

　　upon the railing. It fell over one side of her dress and caught the

　　white border of a petticoat，just visible as she stood at ease.

　　“It’s well for you，”she said.

　　“If I go，”I said，“I will bring you something.”

　　What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping

　　thoughts after that evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious

　　intervening days. I chafed against the work of school. At night

　　in my bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came

　　between me and the page I strove to read. The syllables of the

　　word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my

　　soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me. I

　　asked for leave to go to the bazaar on Saturday night. My aunt

　　was surprised and hoped it was not some Freemason affair. I

　　answered few questions in class. I watched my master’s face

　　pass from amiability to sternness ；he hoped I was not beginning

　　to idle. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had

　　hardly any patience with the serious work of life which，now that

　　it stood between me and my desire，seemed to me child’s play，

　　ugly monotonous child’s play.

　　On Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I wished to

　　go to the bazaar in the evening. He was fussing at the hall stand，

　　looking for the hat brush，and answered me curtly :“Yes，boy，I

　　know.”

　　As he was in the hall I could not go into the front parlor

　　and lie at the window. I left the house in bad humor and walked

　　slowly towards the school. The air was pitilessly raw and already

　　my heart misgave me.

　　When I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet been

　　home. Still it was early. I sat staring at the clock for some time

　　and，when its ticking began to irritate me，I left the room. I

　　mounted the staircase and gained the upper part of the house.

　　The high cold empty gloomy rooms liberated me and I went

　　from room to room singing. From the front window I saw my

　　companions playing below in the street. Their cries reached me

　　weakened and indistinct and，leaning my forehead against the

　　cool glass，I looked over at the dark house where she lived. I may

　　have stood there for an hour，seeing nothing but the brown-clad

　　figure cast by my imagination，touched discreetly by the lamplight

　　at the curved neck，at the hand upon the railings and at the border

　　below the dress.

　　When I came downstairs again I found Mrs. Mercer sitting

　　at the fire. She was an old garrulous woman，a pawnbroker’s

　　widow，who collected used stamps for some pious purpose. I

　　had to endure the gossip of the tea table. The meal was prolonged

　　beyond an hour and still my uncle did not come. Mrs. Mercer stood

　　up to go:she was sorry she couldn’t wait any longer，but it was